


Unstirring, Untroubled

by HumanError



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Drugs, Grief, Lonely John, M/M, Mourning, Poor John, Poor Sherlock, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-09 21:14:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4364387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HumanError/pseuds/HumanError
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is faced with the most heartbreaking moment of his life and the one person he needs to help him cope is no longer with him. He may be strong, but he isn't indestructible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unstirring, Untroubled

He was all I ever needed.

People say that you go through life searching for that one person who can make you feel alive, that one person who is your other half.

I always thought it was ridiculous. Could one person really mean that much to you? I've always been quite sceptical about those sort of things. Perhaps I shouldn't have. I didn't know what was to come.

Yet here I am, alone, once again. I believe I should feel accustomed to being alone since I was that way for the first forty years of my life. As a youngster I watched my parents divorce, my father die and my sister become an alcoholic. The amount of isolation I felt was tremendous but I somehow became used to it. It was normal to me and I eventually began to accept it, no matter how much it affected me mentally. So coming back from Afghanistan shouldn't have felt any different. I'd experienced that loneliness before.

It felt very different.

I'll be the first to admit how bad I was. Depression isn't pleasant, neither is feeling suicidal. I didn't want to live at all. I was broken. Utterly broken. And to top that off I had an injured shoulder, a psychosomatic limp and post traumatic stress disorder that would be enough to scare anyone away. It was in that moment that I wished that I'd have someone to take all that pain away from me, to rid me of the world.

Never did I realise how wrong I would be to want that.

Everything changed that day. That godforsaken day.

He always said that I romanticized things. I suppose it's true. Was true. That day I met him, I finally realized that what everyone said about finding your better half wasn't nonsense. Was it coincidence that made me bump into Mike Stamford? Maybe. But I can tell you this: I wouldn't have changed that for anything.

Sherlock had this presence that would have been enough to stun even the most spectacular of people. He was a mystery. So elegant, yet so stern. So tragic.

He was compelling and I was intrigued in an instant. I fell for him instantly. For some reason I never tried to mask what I felt, attempt to be any less obvious.

It didn't matter. I was hooked on him. I wanted to know more, I wanted to remain by his side for as long as I could.

I managed to.

That man helped me gain a better understanding of life. It sounds ridiculous since he was always the one to act so nonchalant when it came to such trivial things. But he allowed me to appreciate, and that's a rare gift to find in someone.

However, the one thing I didn't understand was why he chose me. This man with such compelling eyes and gorgeous cheekbones and an intelligence that was extraordinary. Why would he ever choose someone like me?

I'll never know. Maybe I don't want to know. Nothing's going to change, not anymore.

I knew what it was like to want to kill myself. Even as a teenager I knew all too well what it was like to feel that. To feel utterly drained, as if there was no way out of that agonising, painful moment that seemed all too consuming. I never had anyone to talk to about it. He did.

That makes it all the worse. The fact that he couldn't bring himself to talk to me about it. I'm being tormented by all of the questions you would expect. Could I have helped him? Did he not trust me enough?

I feel worthless, guilty. The guilt is the worst. I'm guilty that I didn't help him when I should have realised sooner what he was going to do. I feel guilty for not making him feel as happy as I should have done. Was this my fault?

Right now he should be here with me. My fiancé. Not buried in a cemetery with only a headstone to remember him by. But he's not and it hurts so much.

Every single day I am stuck here with nothing but my memories. I'm trapped with the images of him laying unstirring, all of his troubles gone. No one should have to find their partner like that. I did.

I didn't want to go near him. There wasn't even the possibility of him surviving. I've seen cases like his before, overdoses where there were enough drugs in their system to kill multiple people. As much as I want to believe it was an accident, I know it wasn't.

 I'm becoming the person I never wanted to be. Alcohol lends its hand in numbing my awareness. I find it is quite useful. I hate myself for it.

Is it possible to hate someone as much as you love them? I don't think so.

Sherlock, you bastard, if you're listening. Thankyou for leaving, because you've absolutely broken me. The damage is done. There's no coming back from this. I hope you're fucking pleased with yourself.

And I wish the hate for you I was feeling was bigger than the love I have for you. It would make this whole situation a lot easier. But it's not.

Not having you here is destroying me, Sherlock and God do I love you. I love you so bloody much.

I raise my glass to you, Sherlock. Never will I meet a man such as you until we reunite again.


End file.
